


Gimme Sympathy

by scapegrace74



Series: Metric Universe [6]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24655354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scapegrace74/pseuds/scapegrace74
Summary: One more fic in the Metric universe, and then I have to knuckle down and finish the second arc of Saorsa.   This story takes place just after Lost Kitten, so after The Beginning and Breathing Underwater, but long before Lazy Dancer and Calculation Theme.Oh, and mild warning for foul language, if that’s not your thing.The song by Metric that inspired the title and a few lines is here: https://youtu.be/EZEU41xdgDU
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp & Geillis Duncan
Series: Metric Universe [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759669
Comments: 20
Kudos: 76





	Gimme Sympathy

**December 10, 2016, Bistrotheque, Bethnal Green, London**

“Bloody feckin hell, this place is a madhouse!” Geillis yelled as she elbowed her way back to Claire’s side in the vestibule of the latest trendy East London eatery.

“Yes, well, this was all your idea. I was happy going out for pad thai and warm beer,” Claire retorted over the din. Truth be told, she was excited to be out past 8pm wearing something other than her scrubs and someone else’s bodily fluids. It had been a tough slog of a year.

“Are ye mad, woman? Bad enough ye wouldna let me throw ye a party fer gettin’ inta medical school. I wasna goin’ to settle for anything less than the hippest hipster joint in all o’ Bethnal Green tae celebrate yer success.”

They were eventually ushered into the cavernous main dining room, bedecked in white like a virginal bride with a long row of liquor bottles atop the massive central bar reflecting the pendant lights like gemstones. Claire felt conspicuous in her slim black skirt and tallest heels, the pressure of assessing eyes on her exposed back.

Ordering a bottle of ridiculously overpriced champagne, Geillis raised her flute in salute.

“Tae my hard-working, brilliant, an’ annoyingly beautiful friend, who will be the most kick-ass doctor the Royal London ‘as e’er seen. Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

“Thank you, Geil. Though, I’m a long way from a doctor yet,” she demurred, letting the crisp liquid bite her tongue before swallowing.

“Ach, ‘tis no’ but a formality. Ye could pick up a scalpel now and still be a right sight better than most o’ those auld wankers we work wi’!”

“You’re a true friend, Geil. And you have excellent taste in hipster joints. This menu is amazing.”

The two women drank and ate and laughed and drank some more. Geillis was a bottomless well of off-colour stories, most involving her constantly changing stable of male companions.

“So you’re saying he, err, handcuffed you to the bed frame and then... passed out cold?” Claire asked, eyes alight with mischief.

“Aye. An’ before he could serve me, the bugger. Anyway, tha’ was why I couldna reply tae yer texts when ye lost yer keys.”

“I thought you were speaking metaphorically, when you said you’d been tied up!” Claire dissolved into giggles, the empty champagne bottle having been replaced by some top flight Scottish whisky. This meal was going to cost Geillis a fortune.

“Nah. Ye ken I would come tae yer rescue, nae matter how well I was bein’ rogered, Claire. Thas’ wha’ friends are for,” Geillis’ Scots grew more broad as she plumbed the depths of intoxication, a fact that Claire had always found endearing. “Come tae think o’ it, where did ye bed down tha’ night? The on-call room?”

Claire blushed and stared into her half-empty glass. She’d been hoping to avoid this particular conversation, but now she’d stumbled straight into it.

“No, I ran into an... acquaintance, when I was bumbling about in the rain. And they offered to let me stay in their spare room. So, will you be seeing this Norwegian personal trainer again? It’s hardly his fault he passed out. Knowing you, he probably drank enough liquor to pickle an elephant.”

Geillis might have been drunk, but she was still canny, and she could tell when her friend was hiding something.

“What acquaintance of yours has a spare room? Tha’ Hawkins girl, from Pediatrics?”

“No. No, it was... um, well, it was James Fraser,” she mumbled, hoping Geillis had forgotten his family name, or had never known it in the first place. Either was a distinct possibility, but luck was not with her.

“Jamie Fraser! The big ginger firefighter?! Ye slept at Jamie Fraser’s, an’ ye failed tae inform me immediately? Feckin hell, Claire!”

Claire glanced nervously at the tables close by either side of their own, hoping the general clamour prevented their conversation from being overheard.

“It’s precisely because I knew you’d react like this that I didn’t tell you, Geil. It’s not a big deal. He happened upon me, I told him about my keys, and he offered for me to sleep at his. His flatmate had just moved out,” she explained rationally.

“Nae big deal, she says. Alright, then. If it twas nae big deal, tell me everythin’. Seein’ as we’re no’ keepin’ secrets.”

Knowing there was no way to pull Geillis off the scent a juicy tale, Claire matter-of-factly described meeting Jamie in Brick Lane, the inside of his flat, and the quiet breakfast they’d shared the next morning before they’d gone their separate ways. Something kept her from telling the story of their middle-of-the-night encounter and Jamie’s PTSD episode. She tried to convince herself she was merely maintaining the privacy of a patient, but there was something more possessive lying beneath her motivation. Jamie had revealed himself to her in a way she knew, instinctively, he’d never done with Geillis. The secret was his, and now it was hers as well.

“Interesting,” her friend opined, nodding her head as though a theory had been confirmed. “So, the wee fox cub likes his damsels in distress, does he?”

“It wasn’t like that at all, Geil. Don’t make this about sex.”

“Hen, everythin’ is about sex. Jus’ because ye’ve sworn off men doesna make it untrue.”

“You would say that,” Claire retorted. “Especially since you and he...” she gestured with her hand.

“Aye. Aye, we did. Twas the night before ye left fer Afghanistan, if I recall,” Geillis confirmed, unrepentant.

“Just the once?” Claire asked, curious despite herself.

“Aye. Well, twice, if ye count later the same night in the shower after ye puked on me.”

“Oh my god. Geillis! You fucked him in our shower while I lay intoxicated in my bed? I can’t believe you!”

“We made certain ye were alright, first,” Geillis defended herself, batting her eyelashes innocently.

“Bloody hell. Well, and? Don’t hold back now. How was he?”

Geillis looked abstracted and Claire knew she was reliving the night in question, four years past. A lump formed in her throat, and she regretted asking for details. Now the two streams had crossed in her mind, and she’d never again be able to think of Jamie without also remembering the look Geil had on her face in that moment.

Reading her friend’s glass face with ease, Geillis took pity on her.

“Ye dinna really want tae know, love. I will say this. He’s a good lad. Far too lovely for the likes o’ me.”

“That’s it? I have to listen to the minutae of every other sexual adventure you have, but Jamie Fraser is ‘lovely’?”

“Aye. Ye do, and he is. Come, le’s get out o’ here a’fore I canna walk.”

Stumbling out into the cloudy night, the two leaned against each other and started the long trek back to their flat. Claire was silent, trying to sort out her conflicted feelings through the haze of drink. It really shouldn’t matter that Geillis and Jamie had a history, albeit a very short-lived one. And yet somehow, it did.

“I will tell ye one thing,” Geillis began as though their earlier conversation hadn’t ended twenty minutes previous. “The lad has the trapezius of an Olympic deity. Ye could do far worse.”

“I could... Geil, I told you, it isn’t like that. You more than anyone should know I’m not in the market for a man, Olympian musculature or not. Especially now, with medical school looming.”

Geillis stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing a couple to step around them, muttering angrily.

“Claire,” she said, trying to school her features into something approximating solemnity, “yer a brilliant lass, but ye’re also a damn fool. Just cause one man treated ye poorly doesna mean they all will. Ye’re gonna make mistakes, ye’re young. But dinna live in the dark because ye got too close tae the flame and got burned.”

Lecture over, Geillis steered them westward.

“Where are we going?”

“Tae the chippie. Hipster food is well an’ good, but it doesna soak up all the yummy alcohol like tatties an’ grease.”


End file.
